the fake warmth of the fire. I noticed that he sauntered very well himself.
I called to the clerk. 'Elevator's out, right?'
He jumped to his feet again, dropped his book. 'Yes sir, you'll have to take the stairs.'
I knew I'd have to take the stairs. It seemed that whatever had changed the world had evaporated all of the elevator repairmen. Sixth floor. I lit a cigarette and began my climb. I wondered what awaited me. Inside I could feel Tommy's quiet anticipation. I was asking for it in a way, but my gamble had paid off. I was being led now, that was a certainty. First Cane, now Van Reydner. Of course, there was no way of knowing that Van Reydner had actually sent the message. It could have been the bastards who had butchered Adrian. It could have been anybody with a sharp knife and time on his hands. They could all be waiting up there under Nancy Smith. My mind paused mid-stride when I realized that I hadn't had a serious drink in about four hours. I immediately made a mental note to rectify the situation as soon as possible.
The lights flickered. I crouched instinctively-my gun out. The fake brass lamps along the stairway gave off a muddy brown light for a few seconds, then grew in intensity. Another brownout-more and more these days. One day the power wouldn't return. I slid the gun back through my pink skipping rope belt.
The top of the stairs revealed a long hallway that stretched out in both directions, punctuated with many doors. I read the numbers on the closest. The room would be to my left. I moved cautiously down the hall watching the doors as I passed. I kept close to the wall as I walked and soon stood beside 602. Dim light colored the carpet at my feet. I grabbed my gun and quietly knocked with it. No answer. I knocked again and thought about loose ends as I awaited a reply. Nothing.
I remained jammed against the wall, then pushed the door with the gun barrel. It swung inward with an asthmatic creak onto a wide white room. Against one wall was a long couch with wooden scrollwork on its back. A matching chair with red felt cushions sat tight against the end of a big bed with rumpled sheets. Beside the bed was a night table bearing a lamp and a phone. A closet door was open. Hangers were strewn across the floor. I spotted the shriveled snakeskin of a stocking. Red or purple. Somebody had left in a hurry.
I pushed the door flat against the inner wall. No thugs hiding behind it. I took a cautious step into the room. No trapdoor no knives whistling from the assassin's hand. I crossed to the bed and immediately recognized the smell of baby oil-the same I had smelled in Van Reydner's room at the Morocco. If she was as involved as Adrian had been, it was unlikely she would open up shop again in Greasetown. She'd have heard about his murder by now and if she hadn't been involved with it herself-then she'd be in as much danger as he had. Two months had passed since she disappeared. Had she been in contact with Adrian? The fact that she knew about me encouraged me to believe it. If she knew about Adrian did she know who killed him? Maybe she was part of it. All of these ideas kept me sharp, and nervous. Sweat hung in heavy bands under my arms.
Suddenly, I was floating over Tommy's head, and he was walking toward the washroom. His eyes darted back and forth. His breath came in ragged sobs. I didn't have time to think about how easily he had expelled me.
'Babies are slippery,' he said to himself. 'They're like rubber monkeys to hold.' His head snapped to the left and the right. He paused and took a tremendous nose-full of air. 'They're loose, they're twitchy. They're even stinky.' Once inside the washroom he dropped to one knee and scanned the floorboards. 'Nobody has a baby that can keep a bathroom clean. Don't leave them unattended now. Bathe them, and clothe them, and change them, and feed them. Don't drop them!' He laughed to himself then gagged out a sob. I tried to take possession, but found a bulletproof wall of purpose. The back of his head was an impervious barrier. Tommy jammed an arm under the sink. He chuckled when his hand came up clutching a badly deteriorated rubber nipple. Using the nipple as a start, I hit Tommy with sex images. I pictured enormous breasts in sheer black silk-burning aureole rising over dark lace like twin suns. His spirit was passive-like he'd finished a task, and was now content to rest. He snatched greedily at the images.
I was suddenly on one knee holding the top of a baby bottle. It was an antique-the nipple looked old, but inside it, I felt a pale dampness. Then, quite by surprise, an elephant sat on the back of my head again. A hot, black blanket covered me. I'm not sure if it was me, the darkness or the elephant that roared. I was swallowed by something.
Chapter 40
Another odd thing happened. I woke up with blood in my eyes. By all rights, I should have been floating over Tommy's body while he woke up with blood in his eyes. Just another strange development that I really didn't have time for. The only good thing to come of this was that I also had hair in my eyes. This was good because it hid the fact that I was awake and being surprised and realizing things. My arms were tied behind my back to the wooden rungs of a straight-back chair. I was sprawled forward; my hands were asleep. My gun was gone. A lamp overhead bathed me in a cone of light. I smelled cigarette smoke and heard the little puff sounds of lips drawing on a filter. A voice said, 'Wake the bastard up.'
Five gallons of ice water were poured over me. Gasping, I swung my head to clear my eyes of blood, hair and water. I caught the edge of a large shape disappearing into the darkness outside the cone of light.
'Good morning, Mr. Wildclown.'
'Morning,' I said squinting into the darkness ahead of me. A cigarette glowed; its tip was dimly reflected in a pair of glasses.
'I hope you are well.' The voice came from behind me and to the left.
'Never felt better.' I tried to smile, but didn't have the energy.
'Suppose you tell us what you were doing at the Arizona Hotel.'
'Suppose you tell me why I should tell you a goddamned thing.' I don't know why I said those things. I was angry, and a little frustrated I guess.
Pain blinded me momentarily when a gorilla pinched me on the back of the head. Pliers crashed to the floor at my feet, a lock of dark hair was crushed in the steel teeth.
The voice. 'Forgive me, Mr. Wildclown. I'm really quite a handyman, and can never resist using my tools. I've got the whole set with me. Even the power tools.'
'Lucky me,' I grunted.
'What were you doing at the Arizona?'
'Are you Authority?'
Another storm of pain, this time from my right shoulder. A screwdriver fell-it rolled across the floor scrawling a bloody trail.
'Answer the questions, Wildclown.'
'Why can't I stay mad at you?' No new pain.
'Why were you at the Arizona?'
'I was looking for someone. Jeeze, I guess the hero cracked pretty quickly.' I had to play for time.
'Who?'
'I really, sincerely, wish I could tell you.'
'Who?' Following the word, I flinched. My coveralls were pulled roughly from my shoulders. Then, I felt the sharp teeth of a handsaw lightly prick my left shoulder. The saw rocked back and forth on the stiff muscle there, inches from my neck. 'Who?'
'Richard Adrian, I'm trying to find him for an old girlfriend!' I shrieked. Three quick strokes of the saw and blood spattered my chest. Numbness rushed over my scalp and set fire to my mind. I screamed, twisted away from the blade-knocked the chair over. I landed cat-like, on my face. I held my breath against the pain. It was an angry presence gathering force in my shoulder-winding up like a clock spring. I knew it would just get worse and worse. My contortions had dropped me out of the cone of light. The cool darkness drew me in.
No time for sleep. The saw was thrown to the floor with a clang. I felt strong hands on me yanking the chair upright. New pain leapt from my shoulder and head. I leaned over-tried to hide between my knees. A large hand reached around and grabbed the hair at my forehead. As he grunted against the full strength of my belly muscles, I felt an odd tickling at the hairline. Inches from my face dangled an ankh with a swastika set in its oval. It hung from a chain around a thick wrist.
